


The Sound of Shattered Hearts

by avatar_dragon_rider



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I am such a terrible person, I hate tagging, I'm sorry for this, IT'S A LOT LONGER THAN I EVER EXPECTED IT TO BE, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, LET ME COPE IN MY OWN WAY BY MAKING ALL OF YOU SUFFER, Letters, M/M, NEWT IS FUCKING DEAD OKAY, Pain, Past Character Death, So So So Sorry, Tags Are Hard, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?, all relationships are platonic except newtmas, discord easter eggs, everyone is sad, for the most part anyway, i am expecting, i feel like i repeated myself a lot with everyone's letters, let's play how many character death tags i can fit into one fic, listen this was SO HARD TO FINISH ALRIGHT, lowkey flashbacks, newtmas is basically canon, platonic intimacy, reactions to newt's death, so many death threats, so much pain, this is literally seven thousand words of PURE ANGST, this is the absolute opposite of a fix it, who is in more of it? the characters or the readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 18:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avatar_dragon_rider/pseuds/avatar_dragon_rider
Summary: I still hear the songAs it rings beneathThe sound of shattered glassIn the aftermathThe melody carries onI become undoneIt makes us new~"Woodwork" by Sleeping At Last---Sometimes death happens so fast and so unexpectedly that no one has a chance to say a proper goodbye. These are the ones that never got to be heard. These are the letters that will never be received. These are the reactions to his loss that were never seen, and never will be





	1. Words from the Living

**Author's Note:**

> So...this originally started out a LOT shorter. A LONG-ASS time ago, I'd done an angst battle with someone in the discord (I won) and in the process, I'd ended up writing a bunch of different people's reactions to Newt's death. I decided I wanted to piggyback off of that and write a fic about everyone's reaction to Newt's death. Then it turned into everyone's goodbye letters to Newt. Then it turned into this. I am...so sorry. Have tissues on hand. I cried several times writing this. SEVERAL times. Suffer with me. Scream at me in comments (please scream at me, I beg you). Enjoy this rollercoaster of pain.

**Dear Chuck**

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You deserved so much more than what you got. I don’t know if anyone ever told you, but for the short month you were in the Glade, your innocent light shone brighter than the sun ever did. And that light was snuffed out too soon, far too soon. I never realized how much I missed your jokes and antics until they were gone.

Gally wasn’t killed that day, though I expect you know that since he’s not with you, wherever you are. We found him in the Last City while trying to rescue Minho. He’s sorry, too. He never wanted to kill you. He thinks about it every day, it haunts his dreams at night. It haunts mine, too. I wish I could have stopped him. I would have taken that bullet for you. If anyone had to die that day, I wish it would have been me. Anyone but you. You deserved a chance to reach this Safe Haven that Vince is always telling us about. More than anyone else I know. You deserved a chance to grow up, have a future, live in a world that WCKD doesn’t control. 

As I’m writing this, an old saying jumps into my mind. “The good always die young.” I don’t remember ever hearing that phrase spoken to me, but it’s there in my mind. I suppose it rang true for you. I wish it hadn’t. I guess in a gruesome, twisted way, it’s better you died when you did. I can’t imagine watching you dying at the hands of a Crank. I don’t want to imagine it.

Thomas misses you. He talks and thinks about you a lot. He still carries your little statue that you carved for your parents. We never found them, and I’m sorry about that. But maybe you did. If you’re with them now, tell them you were the best little brother I ever had. An annoying little bugger sometimes, but I loved you and I miss you. The world has taken so much from all of us - our memories, our lives, our happiness - and although it took you, it can never take away the good times you gave us. The good memories we have because you existed in our lives. I’m going to hold onto those memories for as long as I can, as long as my diseased mind allows me to remember them.

I’ll see you soon, Chuckie. Keep the gates open for me.

**_Newt_ **

―――――

**Dear Winston**

The words I’m about to write on this paper are words I have never written before. Words I have only ever spoken once, to one person. I’ve hidden it away for so long, kept it locked up in the darkest part of my heart and allowed it to fester there. And now it’s time to release it.

I gave you that gun in the Scorch because I understood your pain. I know better than anyone how it feels to hate what you’re becoming so much that you see no other option but to end it all. I’ve been there. No one ever knew, but back in the Maze, I tried to kill myself by jumping off the wall. I hated the Maze. Hated every second of being there. I hated not knowing who I was, I hated feeling like something was missing from my life. I couldn’t handle feeling that pain every second of every day.

Now, all these months later, I’ve gained an even deeper understanding of what you were going through. I’m infected with the Flare. I don’t know how it happened, I don’t know when it happened, but I know I don’t have a lot of time left. I can already feel myself slipping. I don’t feel right. Everything’s starting to tick me off, my hands are shaking, my arm is covered in dark veins that won’t stop spreading. I’m scared. I’m so scared. Not of dying, I haven’t been scared of that in a long time. But forgetting. The Flare affects our brains, strips us of who we are and turns us into mindless animals. Bloody hell, am I so glad you never had to become one of those. I don’t know what I would have done if we had to watch your mind tear itself apart. I’m afraid of Thomas and the others watching the same thing happen to me.

I’m going to remember all the good times we had in the Glade. When the baby goats were born and little Bia kept following me around. When the Greenie - what was his name? Lance? - got drunk on Gally’s brew and called you Wonston and none of us ever let either of you live it down. When you and Frypan kissed on a dare and Jeff was so jealous. Those are the memories I’m going to hold close. The ones that will keep me sane until they can’t anymore.

I’m sorry you couldn’t see the Safe Haven. But I’m coming to see your Safe Haven. Hold a spot for me around the bonfire.

**_Newt_ **

―――――

**Dear Frypan**

I’ve been sat in this stupid corner for an hour, staring at this blank piece of paper, trying to figure out how to put my thoughts into words. I have so much that I want to thank you for, and nowhere near enough time to say all of it. My hands are shaking as I’m writing even now, and it’s not just because of the virus.

Thank you for everything you have ever done for me. For being my shoulder to cry on for the past few months, especially. You were there for me every time I needed you, and I am so grateful for all those times you sat with me and stayed so quiet while I ranted about my feelings and my fears. All those times you let me cry on your shoulder when I couldn’t get any words out. Thank you for supporting me in my ridiculous pining for Thomas and for wingmanning (alright, and occasionally third-wheeling) for me. Thomas and I wouldn’t be where we are now if it weren’t for you.

I know sometimes it must have felt like we were sidelining you these past couple months, too wrapped up in each other or too focused on getting Minho back, but I want you to know that I never once forgot about you. Minho was our priority, and Thomas was my desire, but you are and have always been my friend. One of my best friends, actually. I would never have dreamt of leaving you behind, whether it be in my mind or in person. It was just the three of us out there. You, me, Thomas. We had to stick together. We couldn’t let anything tear us apart. Not any argument, or relationship, or incurable virus. Like you told me that one day in the Scorch when I wanted to give up. “The important thing is that we all have each other, because we’re all in this together.” I’d laughed, because I used to say the same thing back in the Glade. But you were right. All we had was each other, and that’s all we ever really need.

I’m not going to say goodbye to you because I can’t. That’s the one thing I don’t think I will ever be able to say to you, not in writing and not in person. My deepest wish is that you never have to watch me turn. When this virus inevitably consumes my mind, I hope you are somewhere far away from me. I couldn’t stand to let myself hurt you in that state. I can’t hang onto my sanity for much longer. If this rescue mission Thomas and Gally are planning works, it’s going to kill me. And I’m alright with that, if it means you and everyone else will be safe.

Remember that stew recipe. You’re going to need it in the Safe Haven.

**_Newt_ **

―――――

**Dear Gally**

I went back and forth for a while on this. If I had anything to say to you. If I wanted to say anything to you. But after sitting here staring at a blank paper, surrounded by words to the dead, I realized we have unfinished business that we don’t have time to finish right now, and likely never will. Minho is our priority, my last words can take a backseat until he’s home safe with us.

I know our relationship has always been strained, but that doesn’t make you any less of a friend. You helped me more than I can ever express in words. Those weeks while my leg was healing and you built me crutches and a floor bed and carved me a cane, those were the good times. I liked you then. You were a true friend, and for that I thank you.

When we met again in the Last City, you asked if anyone else wanted to have a go at you. I want you to know that I never wanted to hurt you. I stopped Thomas that day because I meant what I said. You weren’t you when you killed Chuck. You were Stung, and scared, and you didn’t want our way of life to change because of some shuck Greenie coming in and figuring a way out of the Maze faster than we ever thought possible. I understand that. I was scared too. It’s like Alby always used to say. If you ain’t scared, you ain’t human. Right now, that saying rings truer than ever.

I want you to know that I forgive you. Not just for Chuck, but for all of it. Everything we’ve ever said or done to hurt each other. Of course it’s only now, staring death in the face, that I realize how bloody stupid it is to hold anything against each other in this world. We only have so much time, let’s make the best of it and live the best lives we can.

I’ll give Ben a hug for you, when I see him.

**_Newt_ **

―――――

**Dear Alby**

This is the hardest letter I’ve written so far. When you died, I felt so lost. I know you always told me I was a great leader, that I was amazing with people and could solve any disagreement, but after the Griever attack, I couldn’t do it. Gally took control, turned over half the Gladers to his side. I was powerless to stop him. I was so numb. All I could think about was all the different ways I’d failed. I failed to protect those that died. I failed to become the leader you always said I could be. Gally was right, I’d gone soft. Lost my edge. I’d lost you, and at the same time I’d lost an essential part of myself that has been a gaping hole ever since.

There were so many things I wanted to tell you that I never got the chance to say. What really happened that night in the Maze. Although, I get the feeling that you always knew, somewhere deep down. I could see it in how you looked at me, how you spoke to me, how you touched me. There was a new tenderness that had never been there before. I’d made a promise to Minho that I wouldn’t try again, and you deserve to know that I made that promise to you, too. 

We never even got to say goodbye. I think that’s what has stuck with me the most, out of everything else we never got to say. You were taken too fast, and I was so crushed. When you and Minho were trapped in the Maze overnight, I had accepted that you weren’t coming back. But then you did, and I vowed to never lose you again. I loved you, Alby. You were my best friend, the closest thing to family that I had in the Glade. You and Minho. Losing you was the worst pain I’d experienced in a long time. And up until I lost Minho in the Scorch, it remained the worst pain.

I wish you could have seen the world outside the Glade. You would have fit right in at the Right Arm. Vince reminds me a lot of you: stubborn, passionate, a hard leader. He and Thomas have butted heads a lot over the past six months. It’s kind of amusing, honestly. We’ve learned the hard way that Thomas is not allowed to be in charge of a map. Any map. At all. Ever.

We have so much to talk about. I’ll tell you everything when I see you again. But for now, all I have left to say is this.

Goodbye, and I’m sorry.

**_Newt_ **

―――――

**Dear Minho**

~~Thank you.~~

**_Newt_ **


	2. Words to the Dead

_Gally and Newt had rarely ever gotten along during that first year in the Glade. They tolerated each other, occasionally had good moments together, but friendship had never quite settled in between them. At least, not fully. It was always uneasy, perched on an unstable tower and ready to topple at a moment’s notice._

_But all that had changed when Minho carried Newt’s broken, unconscious body through the Doors that day, screaming for the Med-jacks. Gally remembers, even to this day, that feeling of his stomach dropping, twisting in on itself in fear. He didn’t want Newt to die. Newt was too good, too pure, too soft to be taken so soon. Gally remembers the oath he’d sworn, that he’d change things between them. And he kept it, until the day Thomas showed up and ruined everything._

_Now, seeing Newt lie there on the ground, dead, with that cursed knife sticking out of his chest, Gally can't remember feeling a more sharp pain in his chest. It's worse than when Minho threw that spear into him. It’s almost worse than when Ben was Banished, almost. It feels like someone reached into his rib cage and yanked his heart out._

_He may not have always liked Newt. Their friendship may have started out rocky. But by God, did Newt deserve to live more than anyone he knew. He would have traded his own life in that moment if it meant Newt would have survived._

―

**Dear Newt**

First, I just want to throw out there that I’m not the best writer in the world. I’m not good with poetry or sweet words. I’m very to-the-point. I actually don’t remember the last time I wrote someone a letter like this. Not sure if I ever have. But it was that shank Vince’s idea to have all of us write you a goodbye letter, since none of us actually, you know, got to say goodbye.

I think I owe you an apology before anything else. I know I wasn’t the nicest person to be around that first year in the Glade and it took us a long time to become something even resembling friends, but I want you to know that I would do it all over again and change every little thing if it meant I wouldn’t have to be writing this letter. I hate goodbyes. I always have. And this one is one of the hardest I’ve ever had to say.

Looking back, I realize that there are so many things I could have - and should have - done differently that night. I have so many regrets, but the only one I keep coming back to is this: I should have taken a vial of serum with me when I went back for you and Thomas and Minho. If I had taken just one of them with me, then it would have saved you. At the very least, it would have given you enough time to make it back to WCKD after Teresa discovered Thomas’s blood was the cure. We could have saved you, Newt. I could have saved you. And I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t.

If you see Ben in Paradise, tell him I love him and I miss him so much. And when you see Chuck, tell him I miss him too. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about what I did, and if there was any way I could take it back, I would.

Good luck up there, shank. We’ll miss you.

**_Gally_ **

―――――

_Brenda didn’t know what to expect when she saw Gally and Minho running up the steps toward the Berg. At first, she’d been relieved. They’d made it, they were safe. But panic immediately swallowed that relief when she realized several things at once: Thomas wasn’t with them, Newt wasn’t with them, Gally looked terrified, and Minho was shouting urgently at her for the serum._

_She’d never run so fast in her life. Sprinting through the chaos of the city streets, explosions shaking the ground beneath her and fire making her entire body feel too hot. Her legs burned, her lungs ached, her fingers had gone numb from how hard she was clutching the serum vial._

_I can make it, Brenda kept telling herself. I can make it, I can make it, I can make it._

_She never expected to see Newt’s body lying on the ground, a knife in his chest, pale and still and webbed in dark veins. She never expected Thomas to give her such a broken look, a single tear slipping from his eye. She never expected him to stand up and turn around and walk away, away from her, away from Newt, away from Minho and Frypan and Gally. The world seemed to shrink until it was just Newt’s body, and in that moment, Brenda cursed that split-second stop they’d taken to hide behind a car._

_They had almost made it. And Newt had paid the price._

―

**Dear Newt**

You and I both know I’m not one for long speeches or inspirational words. I’ve always been the one to speak my mind and never beat around the bush. So I’m not going to do it here, either.

It’s my fault you died. Plain and simple. I wasn’t fast enough. I hesitated. I thought I could make it. And I didn’t, and now you’re dead and Thomas is crushed and Minho is numb and I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to feel. Everyone keeps telling me it’s not my fault, and I did all they could, but they’re just blowing steam out their ass to make me feel better. I wish someone would just tell it to me straight instead of treating me like I’m glass. I got enough of that when everyone thought I was gonna Crank out any second back in the Scorch.

I don’t think any of us imagined that in the end, you’d be the one Cranking out.

Okay enough of this depressing shit. You’ll get more than enough of that from your boyfriend (he is your boyfriend, I don’t want to hear any arguing on the matter). Minho and I run together in the mornings now. He claims it’s because of how often he ran in the Maze, and muscle memory and all that bullshit, but we both know it’s because neither of us were fast enough to save you and we regret it every second of every day of our lives.

Wow, I am very bad at not making this depressing. I guess the bottom line is you didn’t deserve to die like that. You didn’t deserve to die at all, actually. You told me once in the Scorch to believe in hope, even though I fought you on it and rolled my eyes and said it was pointless. What’s hope gonna do for us, I’d said. I still hear your response clear as day: “Nothing. And that’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t solve our problems for us, but it gives us the drive to solve them ourselves.” I think you were a lot wiser than you let on.

I’m really gonna miss you, you lanky-ass ball of sunshine. You were no George, not by a long shot, but you became my brother. And I’ll hold onto that until I see you again.

**_Brenda_ **

―――――

_Frypan had always believed in fate. That everything they were forced to go through all happened for a purpose. A good reason. And so far, it had proven true. They were put in the Maze to try to save a dying world. They had to trek through the hot, barren Scorch to reach safety. Minho was taken from them, but the journey to bring him home brought them all closer together as a family. A broken and misshapen family, but a family nonetheless._

_But this…Frypan couldn’t think of any good reason fate had decided to take Newt away from them. What purpose did it serve? Taking Newt away was like removing the sugar from cookie dough, or the meat from his stew. Like dousing the eternal fire of the sun or melting the glue in a book’s spine so all the pages fell out. It was just wrong. Unnecessary. Unreasonable._

_He hadn’t even known Newt was sick. When did he get sick? How did he get sick? Did anyone know? Why didn’t he know? Why didn’t anyone tell him? How, when, why, why, how, why, WHY. Why Newt? Newt was so good, so pure, too tender and gentle of a soul to be taken like that, and so soon. So young…they were all so young. And yet this was the path fate had put them on._

_As hard as Frypan tried, as he stared at Newt’s once-vibrant light, now as dark as shadows, he couldn’t find it in him to believe in fate anymore._

―

**Dear Newt**

I can’t believe you’re really gone. I don’t know why, but ever since Minho brought you back from your accident in the Maze, you always seemed untouchable. No matter what was thrown at you - at all of us actually - you always knew how to get through it. You solved so many problems back in the Glade, you were our guiding light in the Scorch. You kept us going. I know if you were here, you’d say I was the source of light and happiness while we roamed around looking for Minho, but it was really you. It was always you.

I should have told you before, but I knew what happened back in the Maze. I mean, no one ever told me, but I knew. I knew the Griever story was a lie, I knew it was you. To be honest, it was easy to see if you knew what to look for. I should have told you that I knew. I could have helped you. All those times you needed someone and the someone you needed wasn’t there, I could have been there. I should have been there.

Which is why I’m so MAD at myself for not knowing you were sick. How did I not see it? I should have seen it. I should have known something was wrong weeks ago. I should have known you were infected long before you blew up at Thomas, and I should have said something. I wish I would have given you a proper goodbye. Back in the church, before the mission. I should have said goodbye. If I had just known, maybe I could have done something. I could have helped you. 

It’s so strange, being in Paradise without you. It feels empty, and cold. Like I forgot the most important ingredient in my special stew. I know you always liked that stew. None of us are taking your loss very well. Especially Minho. I don’t think I’m ever going to forget the look on his face when he saw you lying there. I’ve never seen him look so heartbroken before. And Thomas hasn’t been the same after that night. He misses you, a lot. He hasn’t taken your little necklace off since Minho gave it to him. Sometimes he’ll sit on the cliff and stare at the ocean, turning Teresa’s cure over in his hands and reading these crumpled sheets of paper. Sometimes he cries. Did he get to say goodbye? I hope he did. You two deserved that closure more than any of us.

If Teresa’s up there with you, give her a hug from me. I know she betrayed us, but in the end, she did the right thing. She got Thomas back to us. And for that, I’ll forgive her.

See you later, buddy.

**_Frypan_ **

―――――

_Throughout his time at WCKD, Minho had been forced to endure so many visions and nightmares of terrible realities. He watched the Grievers attack the Glade and slaughter everyone while he was powerless to help them. He endured countless variations of the morning he found Newt in the Maze, ranging from just missing the Doors to finding Newt dead to seeing a Griever eating him alive. In one vision, he was forced to listen to Newt’s agonized screams as the Med-jacks amputated his leg. He doesn’t remember if Newt survived or not. He doesn’t want to remember._

_When he broke out and saw Newt and Thomas in the WCKD lab, wearing guard uniforms and looking at him like he just threw the stars into the sky, he thought it was another vision. He thought at any second, one of the guards would shoot Newt in the head or electrocute Thomas to death with fifty Launcher grenades. He thought the window jump would kill them, and he’d jerk awake in that lab, bleeding into tubes that he knew led to a machine that extracted his precious enzyme for WCKD’s precious cure._

_But then he saw Gally. Gally, who for nearly seven months he’d believed was dead. Out of all the visions and nightmares he’d suffered, WCKD had never once included Gally. That’s how he’d known it was real. That’s how he’d known that he wasn’t in another nightmare simulation, and they’d really come to save him. They would take him home, wherever that was, and everything would be fine. They would be safe. They could start over._

_And then Newt was coughing, webbed in black veins. And then Newt was thanking him, words coming in trembling breaths and black blood dribbling from his mouth. And then Newt was dead, consumed by the Flare and killed by the knife in his chest. He didn’t know if Thomas had done it or if Newt had, but he didn’t care. Newt was gone. And so was Minho’s sunlight._

―

**Dear Newt**

Why did it have to be you. Why couldn’t it have just been another stupid simulation, and I’d wake up in my room or in the lab and everything would be fine. Why did it have to be real.

I told you to hang on. You were supposed to make it, like you did before. But then again, you were never one to listen to me, were you? Match made in stubborn heaven, you and Thomas. I just wish it hadn’t been real. We could all be sitting around a campfire in the Safe Haven sharing stories and laughing and having good times again. But we can’t. Because of fucking WCKD and the fucking Flare and WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE YOU!

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Newt. I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough this time. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you this time. I’m sorry I left you. I never should have just left you there. I didn’t leave you last time, so why in HELL did I leave you this time? I thought it would all be okay. I thought you would make it. I thought it would be okay. And it wasn’t. And I hate myself so much for it. I was the Keeper of the fucking Runners, why wasn’t I fast enough to save you?

I loved you, Newt. I loved you so, so fucking much. You were my brother in all but blood. I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to go on without you. Ever since we were kids, we’ve been best friends. I remember those times now. I remember when we were ten years old, running around the WCKD complex and breaking a bunch of rules and having fun. I remember making up the Glader slang and pissing off all the doctors. I remember how you used to laugh so hard you’d need to lean into someone to keep yourself upright. I remember when we all tried to break out and ran into Thomas and Teresa. I remember all of it, every bit of it, and I’d give anything to have it back. I’d give anything to have YOU back. I’d undergo endless simulations if it meant you would come back to me.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. A Safe Haven without you doesn’t feel like a Safe Haven. But I know if you were here, you’d tell me to keep going, keep pushing, never stop. Because that’s what I always used to tell you. So I’ll keep running. I’ll run and I’ll run and I’ll fucking run until I find you again.

I know what that “thank you” meant, by the way. But I’m not going to let my last memory of you be those words. No, I’m going to choose to remember you from the good old days, when things weren’t good or great or even perfect, but damn were they alright. I’ll settle for alright.

Goodbye, Newt.

**_Minho_ **

―――――

_Time was an interesting concept. It could speed up or slow down whenever it wanted. You could be sitting there staring a map and only five minutes will have passed, but it feels like an hour. Or you could be laughing and having a good time with your friends, and the whole day has gone away when you swear it’s only been a couple hours._

_Thomas had never experienced time doing both at once._

_He’d felt it speed up, in those rare moments in the Scorch where he and Newt got to be alone, sharing a tender moment by the fire. Their favorite spot. He’d felt it slow down, when Minho was taken and he had to stand there, watching the Berg fly away to who even knew where. He’d even felt it stand still, during the first moment he had felt Newt’s lips against his own._

_But seeing that knife protruding from Newt’s chest, staring into those black pits that used to be Newt’s warm brown eyes, time suddenly was moving too slow and at the same time, way too fast. It felt like decades between Newt’s faint whisper of “Tommy” and the moment his back hit the ground, his body falling in slow motion. But it all happened so **fast,** and Thomas didn’t have any time to process it until he was staring at Newt’s lifeless face, watching a single tear trace its way down his cheek and into his ear._

_He didn’t remember standing up. He didn’t remember seeing Brenda standing there, gaping in shock and horror. All he knew was he was going back to WCKD. Not because of what Teresa had said, but because of Newt. Because of Minho. Because Thomas had a score to settle._

―

**Dear Newt**

I…I don’t know what to say. What am I even supposed to say? You’re gone. I don’t…I can’t…reading your letter was hard enough, how the hell am I supposed to respond to that?

You mentioned that when you were…losing yourself…you thought about the day I’d first come up in the Box. You used that to ground yourself and keep yourself sane for as long as you could. I don’t remember ever telling you, but when Gally pulled me out of the Box and threw me on the ground, the first Glader I saw when I looked up was you. And then you came and sat with me by the fire that night and you were…comforting. The smile you gave me when you told me Gally saved my life? You probably thought I didn’t see it, but I did, and it sent a wave of reassurance through my whole body. Made me feel like the world was okay again.

Ava Paige is dead. Just like I swore she would be, six months ago in the Scorch. But I didn’t kill her. I wanted to…or, at least, I thought I did, until I was pointing a gun at her after you died and I realized…I didn’t want that anymore. I didn’t want her dead anymore. Six months ago I did, when I was fueled by rage over Minho getting captured and Teresa betraying us and I wanted nothing but revenge. I could have shot her then. When I went back to WCKD. I could have. But I just…I didn’t have it in me. I was done. Everything…everything just felt so worthless without you. So pointless. If WCKD wanted me, then they could have me. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did, if it meant you weren’t in this with me, standing by my side like you have been ever since the day I came up in the Box.

Janson is the one who killed Ava. Teresa’s gone too. She died in the fire that swallowed the WCKD building. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her for doing what she did, not completely. But in that moment on the rooftop, with everything around us crumbling and burning, I understood her. We shared a kiss, but nothing like the ones you and I shared in the cramped darkness of Bertha or Lola. It was…it was like I’d gotten my best friend back, or found a long-lost sister. We thought that was the end. I wouldn’t have minded. As long as it led me to you.

But we’re all safe now. Minho’s here, Gally’s here, we’re all here. All but you. And I…I’m lost, Newt. I’m so lost without you. You brought light into the hell that was our lives, and now it’s gone and I’d rather be blinded by you than by the blackest abyss the universe can throw me in. I’ve read your letter so many times I can recite every word in my sleep. It’s the closest I can get to still being with you.

I’m not going to tell you I love you because the word “love” just doesn’t cover it. What we had was far deeper than love. I think that’s why we never said it. Now, though, I wish we had. If only so I could hear how the words “I love you, Tommy” would sound in your voice. I loved how you were the only one who called me Tommy. I’d give anything to hear you say it one more time. And not as a Crank. As you.

You tore a hole in my heart when you left, and even though I know it will never fill completely, I’ll try to do what you asked of me. I’ll take care of everyone. And I’ll take care of myself. I’ll learn to be happy again. And one day, we’ll be reunited.

**_~~Thomas~~ _ **  
**_Tommy_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, yes, I am aware that most people don't write letters with "..." in them. But the way I imagined it is Thomas is so in shock and unsure about what he wants to say that while he thinks, he just jots those dots down because it makes him feel like he's doing something. He writes how he thinks, basically. He's writing as if he's speaking to Newt, which makes...a lot of fucking sense and it makes me sad. Damn.


	3. Words in the Sky

The last thing Teresa saw before everything went black was the Berg, hovering above what used to be the most impressive building in the Last City.

The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes again were people. Lots of them.

She got to her feet and turned in a slow circle. Standing around her, staring back at her, were the faces of all the Gladers who had died before this moment. Ben, stung by a Griever and Banished before he could blink. Winston, so terrified of becoming a Crank that he put a bullet in his head. Jack, who escaped the WCKD complex with them only to be devoured by Cranks in the abandoned mall. Alby, whose sacrifice had saved not only Chuck’s life, but all of theirs, at least for a little while. Jeff, who had more bravery and courage than all the rest of them combined, for rushing a pack of Grievers like he had. Little Chuck, gone too soon and still just as chubby-cheeked and innocent as he had been the day he’d died.

Teresa froze, shock hitting her like a tidal wave and threatening to bring her to her knees. She couldn’t get enough air; breathing was not happening, though considering she was dead, it wasn’t like she really needed it anyway. Her vision swam and threatened to cut out entirely.

Newt stood amongst the crowd of dead, arms crossed and weight shifted to his good leg and hair falling in short waves around his ears and eyes piercing and mouth set in that ever-present frown that Thomas for some reason always found endearing.

Everything spun around her. Newt shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to survive, get the cure made from Thomas’s blood and make it to the Safe Haven. If he was here, did that mean Thomas didn’t make it? Were they both here? A quick glance around the group told her that Thomas was absent from the assembly. So he had survived the gunshot and gotten to the Safe Haven safely. But Newt… 

A crushing weight settled in Teresa’s chest, nearly choking her. If Newt was here, then that meant he’d turned. He’d never gotten the cure. She’d been too late. She thought they still had time, but there had never been enough time. And now here they were, face to face in death. Her pleas echoed in her head as if screamed by a chorus of deathly angels, reminding her of the future that would never be.

_Thomas, you can save Newt. There’s still time for him._

―――――

Alby had seen so many deaths since appearing in the afterlife. Both in the Glade, and in the Scorch. All of them had been painful to watch, Chuck’s especially, but every single one paled in comparison to Newt’s.

He didn’t know what to feel when he first saw Newt reveal his infection to Thomas. Anger? Sadness? Fear? He had remembered the Flare after suffering the Changing, and he’d hoped that none of his boys would ever have to go through something like that. Winston’s infection had very nearly given him the push to stop watching and move on, make his home in the afterlife with the others. But he couldn’t leave Newt behind. The bond he’d shared with Newt was stronger than any other bond he’d formed with anyone else in the Glade. He had promised to never give up on Newt, and so he kept to that and stayed, watching.

Alby could barely watch Minho’s rescue. All he could see was Newt falling deeper and deeper into the virus’s clutches. Memories flooded his mind, blocking out the scene of three crazy fools leaping from a tower in the dead of night. He saw Newt first arriving in the Box, wide-eyed and terrified, but still calmer than the ones that had come up before him. He saw himself sitting beside Newt that first night, sharing the firelight and a jar of some new drink Gally had invented. He saw Minho half-dragging an unconscious Newt through the Doors early in the morning, tear-streaked and screaming for someone to get the Med-jacks. He saw Newt sitting by himself in the gardens, baby goat snoozing beside him as he scribbled away in his journal, leg bound tightly in bandages. He saw the night Thomas arrived, the way Newt’s face seemed to glow in a way it never had before. Oh, how he’d taken that for granted back then.

He wished he’d never given up that night in the Glade. He could have fought harder against the Grievers. He could have pulled himself out of the depression he’d fallen into after the Changing. If he had, he could have protected Newt. He could have stopped all this from happening. Hell, he could have saved Minho from WCKD's clutches and none of this would have happened.

When Newt showed up, tears were coming in rivers down his cheeks. He apologized like those were the only words he knew how to say. He was sorry, so sorry. He gave up again.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. When Alby finally pulled Newt into his arms, he whispered the truth into the sobbing boy’s ear.

_I gave up on you._

―――――

It hadn’t clicked in Winston’s head until much later, after existing in the afterlife for what could have been days or months in real time. Until that moment, he never realized exactly why Newt had given him the gun that day in the Scorch. Then one day, inexplicably, it just clicked. And Winston knew.

He walked to the viewing area, a large expanse of crystal clear, perfectly motionless water. At least, everyone thought it was water. It certainly moved like water. But it didn’t look like how any of them remembered the ocean looking like. Instead of a vast area of deep blue, this water reflected what was happening in the real world, the world of the living. All Winston had to do was touch it and it would show him what he wanted to see.

Alby sat on the soft sand, like he always did, watching whatever scene the water was showing. No one ever had to ask what it was he stared at so intently; everyone knew. It was Newt, always Newt. Winston sometimes wished he would stop, but on days like today, he welcomed it.

Winston sat beside Alby, the two sharing nothing more than a glance of acknowledgement before returning their gaze to the water. It showed Newt sitting at a desk in a dark, shabby-looking bedroom, surrounded by crumpled pieces of slightly yellowed paper and scattered pens. A small stack of crisp pages sat off to the side, covered in Newt’s looping, surprisingly tidy handwriting. Newt’s hands shook occasionally, his eyes shining with unshed, barely-contained tears.

Winston’s name was at the top of the page Newt was writing on. As the words took shape, Winston realized it was a letter, a letter to him. Newt was writing goodbye letters to all of his friends, both living and dead. In Winston’s letter, Newt wrote about how he’d understood the Slicer’s wish for death, how he’d been infected himself now, and between the lines, Winston knew what Newt was thinking. Whether by his own hand or the Flare, Newt wasn’t going to survive. In his last paragraph, he asked Winston to hold a place for him at the bonfire.

_We will, Newt. We sure will._

―――――

Chuck saw everything from their own little paradise. He watched as people started showing up, one by one, each one more undeserving of death than the last, and he couldn’t understand why everyone had to die. Why the living had to go through this awful, awful pain, and he could do nothing to help.

In truth, the afterlife wasn’t all bad. In a way it was like the Glade. They had everything they needed, everyone was happy, and they were able to check in on their still-living friends whenever they wanted. Chuck supposed it was better than how he pictured Hell.

But even Hell couldn’t compare to the feeling of watching Newt die slowly from a disease with no cure.

He had always liked Newt. Newt was kind, and soft, and gentle, and deserved all sorts of happiness. Newt was the type of guy who would sit and listen to your problems no matter how insignificant they seemed. Chuck liked that. Most of the other boys in the Glade just found him annoying and bothersome. Maybe Newt did too, but at least he was kind to Chuck. He was kind to everyone, actually. A good soul.

So naturally, the one day Chuck decided to visit the viewing pool to see how his surviving friends were doing was the day Newt started coughing up black bile and concealing dark veins from those around him. Chuck’s heart dropped into his gut when he saw those black lines cross-crossing under his skin, like a curse flowing through his bloodstream. A death sentence.

From that moment on, he dreaded the day Newt would show up in their paradise. He dreaded watching Newt slowly lose his mind, watching Thomas lose someone whose relationship to him he could never describe. Chuck may have been young, but he understood what love looked like. There was no age limit on understanding love, and there never would be.

The day it happened, Chuck couldn’t watch. He couldn't listen to Newt's cries. When it finally went quiet, he sobbed, hands over his ears and eyes clenched shut. After he didn’t know how long, arms came around him, soft hair brushing his cheek. Newt's voice whispered in his ear, telling him it’s okay, it’s okay.

_No it's not._


End file.
